


Olive Branch

by Princip1914



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley does not understand sex, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Making an Effort (Good Omens), Noah's Ark, Orgasm, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), are pretty easy to confuse, discorporation, smiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24177340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princip1914/pseuds/Princip1914
Summary: On the 19th day of rain, Aziraphale discovered that Shem had miscounted the snakes.“Sssstop that!” the small red and black snake said, curling defensively around Aziraphale’s hand as the angel made a half-hearted attempt to throw him overboard. “Do I look like a sssssea ssserpent to you?”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 287





	Olive Branch

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t sleep so I wrote this instead. I don’t know either.

On the 19th day of rain, Aziraphale discovered that Shem had miscounted the snakes. 

“Sssstop that!” the small red and black snake said, curling defensively around Aziraphale’s hand as the angel made a half-hearted attempt to throw him overboard. “Do I look like a sssssea ssserpent to you?” 

“Crawley, you’re not supposed to be here!” Aziraphale was definitely annoyed, and not excited at the prospect of a conversation partner who might want to talk about something other than the breeding habits of sheep. “You’ll get us both in trouble!” 

“I am _supposed_ to be trouble, ssss my job,” Crawley hissed back, then worked his jaw. “Look I can’t talk to you like thisssss, put me down.” 

Aziraphale obligingly set the small snake down on a bale of hay where it became a rather bedraggled man-shaped creature, wearing a very wet tunic. The tunic, Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice, _clung_. 

“Better,” Crawley said, and cracked his neck. 

“You leave the ark this instant, you fiend!” Aziraphale said. 

“And go where?” Crawley sighed and started wringing water out of his long red hair. “Look, I’m not causing problems. If anything I’m helping. I’m keeping the mouse population down.” 

“Noah is trying to keep the mouse population _up_ ,” Aziraphale snapped. “And all the other animal populations. That’s the _whole point_ Crawley.” 

“Ah, oops,” Crawley looked a bit guilty. “I only ate one. I won’t eat anymore, promise. Please just don’t make me swim to China.” 

Aziraphale crossed his arms in a lukewarm attempt at a threatening posture. Crawley gave him a pleading look.

“Oh, alright,” Aziraphale sighed. “You can have the front of the ark and I’ll take the back. But no mischief!” 

***

On the 20th day of rain, Aziraphale wandered to the front of the ark and engaged the Adversary in Conversation. This was only, he told himself later, because he had run out of reading material. 

***

On the 25th day of rain, Aziraphale granted Crawley free rein of the entire ark in exchange for a long and luxuriant backrub. 

“Gosh, angel, you’re so tense,” Crawley was sitting cross legged behind him and working at the muscles with his fingers. His hands were very strong and very clever. Aziraphale had never realized before. 

“It’s because my wings are cramped from folding them away all the time,” Aziraphale mumbled. 

“Hmm,” Crawley did something with the heel of his hand that, if he were not a demon, would have been categorized as Very, Very Good. “Nah, I bet it’s all the moral weight you’re carrying around,” he said sagely. “Heavy stuff, that.” 

***

On the 29th day of rain, Crawley invented chess five thousand years early. Aziraphale played him and won and saw that it was Good. Aziraphale played him a second time, lost in seven moves, and saw that it was Frustrating. 

***

On the 31st day of rain, Crawley said, “hey angel, you ever tried sleep before?” 

“Not really,” Aziraphale frowned. “Have you?” 

“Been trying to get the hang of it for ages, but it’s so hard. I can’t quite do it.” Crawley licked his lips. He had very red lips, Aziraphale noted, the color of ripe fruit. There was probably a theologically significant metaphor there, but he couldn’t place it. 

“Humans usually sleep together.” Crawley continued. “Want to come here and try it?” 

Aziraphale shuffled closer, shuffled until he was lying next to Crawley on a bale of hay that no longer smelled quite as fresh as it had thirty one days ago. Tentatively, Crawley put one arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Tentatively, Aziraphale inserted a bare foot between Crawley’s scaly ones. 

“Are you asleep?” Aziraphale asked after a while.

“No,” Crawley said, snuggling closer. “I don’t think it’s working. But this is nice anyway, innt?” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, deciding as he spoke. “It is nice. What’s it called?” 

“Cuddling, I think,” Crawley said and pulled him tighter. 

***

On the 32nd day of rain, a longstanding latent question that had become rather more pressing over the past month, and positively urgent after the previous day’s discovery of cuddling, floated up to Aziraphale’s conscious awareness. On the 37th day of rain, while watching the demon stretch his particularly sinuous spine, Aziraphale asked it. 

“Have you ever made an effort Crawley?” 

“What?” Crawley gaped at him. “What kind of a question is that? I’m a demon, I don’t put effort into anything, sloth is one of the--”

“No, I mean,” Aziraphale raised his eyebrows meaningfully. “Have you ever made An Effort?” 

“Oh, that? Nah, don’t see the point,” Crawley waved a hand dismissively. 

“Oh.” Aziraphale was unaccountably disappointed, despite never having made An Effort himself. He supposed he was disappointed because new things were fun and he had thought the demon would know how it was done. “Oh well then.” 

***

On the 38th day of rain, Crawley said, “I could try it if you want.” 

“Try what?” Aziraphale asked, stirring in Crawley’s arms. They were cuddling again. As it turned out, cuddling was as Good as chess. Better even.

“Making An Effort?” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale demurred, “Oh, don’t do it on my account. Only if you want to--” 

“I want to,” Crawley said. His face was very close. His eyes were very yellow. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale was pleased, which must be why his cheeks were heating. “Oh, yes, if you don’t mind.” 

“I’m making one now,” Crawley said. “I have been, actually, for a few hours. Want to see it?” 

“Absolutely, I’d be delighted!” 

Crawley shucked his robes up over his head. Aziraphale looked down at the long narrow line of him, the freckles on his hip bones. Something ancient, protective, and absolutely unnamable clenched in Aziraphale’s chest. “Where is it?” he asked. 

“Here,” Crawley drew one hand down his chest and stomach to the vee of his legs where a small thatch of red hair had sprouted. He parted his legs and then, with his fingers, parted what was between them. 

“Oh my,” Aziraphale said. He was suddenly thinking about apples again, and he was very hungry. At least, he thought it was hunger. “How does it feel?” 

Crawley shrugged. “Wet I guess. Kind of like a mouth, but different.” 

Aziraphale scrutinized it. “Can I touch it?” 

“Sure,” Crawley moved his own hand away. He pillowed his head on both his arms and tilted his head to look down as Aziraphale brushed a tentative thumb over what was there. 

“Oh Satan!” Crawley swore and clutched at his hair. “Do that again.” 

So Aziraphale did. And again, and again. 

On the fourth pass of Aziraphale’s hand, the demon’s hips bucked up and he began to shake. He let out a keening awful cry. Aziraphale drew back in alarm. 

“Oh how dare you!” Crawley cried, eyes screwed tightly shut. 

“How dare I what? I was only doing what you asked!” 

“I trusted you angel, and you’ve discorporated me!” 

“I’ve done nothing of the sort!” 

“Yes, you did! You smote me! You called down a bolt of lightning!” 

“I _didn’t_ ,” Aziraphale said, a bit annoyed now. “Just open your eyes Crawley, does it look like you’re back in Hell?” 

One yellow eye cracked open. Then, slowly, Crawley sat up, flexing his fingers and wiggling his toes. “Pinch me angel?” he asked, holding out a forearm. 

Aziraphale did, hard. 

“Ow,” Crawley rubbed at his arm. “Still corporeal I guess. What was that? You’re sure you didn’t Smite me? It really did feel Divine, let me tell you.” 

“Oh did it?” Aziraphale asked, intrigued despite himself. “But you’re a demon, are you sure you can still recognize the Divine? Maybe I ought to try making An Effort myself?” 

A slow smile curled over Crawley's lips. "It really would be the only way to know for sure." 

***

On the 40th day, the rain stopped. On the 47th day, Noah’s dove returned with an olive branch and the crew of the ark rejoiced. 

Aziraphale tried his best not to be disappointed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fluffy companion piece to a significantly bloodier story,   
> [ Paperwork ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24243556) about discorporation as intimacy. 
> 
> There are a lot of fics about Noah's Ark with this sort of structure (on the first day of rain, etc), and also a lot of first time clueless effort fics. This fic was probably subconsciously inspired by all of them. What can I say, i just can never get enough of Anthony "But Why Do You Need Two Unicorns" Crowley. 
> 
> [Come stop by on tumblr](https://princip1914.tumblr.com) for more cursed (™) content.


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